May shows you the babies, their skin is gray and covered in rough calluses; it resembles gravel.
"they are turning to stone, it is a rare sickness, right now only their skin is effected, but when it reaches their organs..."

"Kells is said to be a magical place ran by the kindest women in the western land. it is said they have a garden that grows healing herbs of all kinds. im hoping they can cure my children. but there has been no reply in 5 weeks."

URIN & MAC
You make your way along the road heading northward - if one could call a collection of flat stones loosely headed in more or less the same direction a 'road' - until evening time. The baker, a stout woman, utters no complaint at your usual quick pace, but as the light begins to fail you can see that she winces with every step. When she insisted on joining you, she didn't mention she had a bad leg.

"It's nothing," she insists. "Just that I won't be running any distance, is all." She forces a smile and rubs her knee vigorously.

It becomes clear that the party will either have to stop for the night or abandon the woman to her own fate. As you consider this detail, darkness crawls over the road until the dense bushes that surround you are nothing more than vague silhouettes. An uneasiness comes over you. Straining your ears, you can just make out what sound like movement deep in the bushes to the east.

I'll try my hand at running this game. If there calls for any sort of mechanical intervention (like combat), I'll use my GMing powers to resolve things fairly. Out-of-character script will appear in Italics thusly. If jackdaw returns to the game, I can introduce him as a character.

URIN
You build a small fire and set up camp. As the last of the sun's light disappears, the dark clouds overhead break into a grey drizzle. You curl up inside your cloak and try to keep dry as Dylan the Bard strums the same ditty again and again on his acoustic guitar.

The rainfall worsens and the fires sputters and dies, preventing the Baker, who is already distracted with her painfully swollen knee, from cooking the meal you'd expected. Under the feeble protection of a needled branch, you've become wet and now hungry, and still the Bard's strumming continues. You glare over at Dylan - he's smiling to himself, seemingly oblivious to his soaked clothing and empty stomach.

Time passes slowly. The music continues, and it seems that every note causes the downpour to intensify. It's as though the Bard is willing this night's discomfort on you. With surprise you notice that you're rubbing the handle of your great hammer, though you can't remember plucking it from its loop around your side. On and on into the night, the music continues. You heft your hammer and glare, and still the music continues. The heavy smell of evil mixes with the rain and mud.

Suddenly, the Baker stands. "Dylan!" she cries. "Would you be a dear and fetch some water? I glimpsed a stream not five minutes that-a-way when I was out fetching kindling. Take a torch, though even in the dark you can't miss it."

The music stops as the Bard stands and makes a low bow to the Baker. "My pleasure, ma'am," and off he walks into the woods.

The Baker turns to you. "Are you insane?" she hisses. "Don't think I don't know what was about to happen!"

A fog is lifted from your mind, and you realize with a jolt how right she is. As you're about to speak, the two of you hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the wood, in the direction that the Bard took. You'd forgotten all about the noises from earlier.

Just then, the rain stops and the light of a full moon pierces the heavy clouds.